


Blame

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Content Warning: Tory Mentions, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 22:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which the Dread Powers try to explain Boris Johnson. It goes poorly.





	Blame

**Author's Note:**

> I got annoyed with my country. Then this happened.

It was a rare occurrence. Not since Leitner had gathered all manner of eldritch tomes under one roof had the avatars needed to meet. The fourteen powers rarely had their interests align, though there were procedures in place for the rare, awful occasions that happened.

Jonathan Sims, Archivist of the Magnus Institute, headed nervously down into the tunnels. The letter he’d received, that he could have disregarded. The migraine-inducing sense of urgency was significantly harder to ignore. Whatever the invitation was, the Beholding very much wanted him to accept it.

The tunnels didn’t close in around him. Instead he wandered, before finally finding himself coming out in some of what remained of Millbank Prison.

A panopticon opened up around him. Fourteen sides, all the same size, all with different shapes engraved in the ancient stone walls. Jon noted that behind him was the outline of a wide, unblinking, bloodshot eye. He shivered; he could feel it watching him.

When he stood in front of it, the pounding in his head finally lessened enough for him to look around. There were others stood at most of the other sides of the shape, though some spaces were left empty. In one wall, what seemed to be an etched spiral design was interrupted by an out-of-place, more modern wooden door. Helen stepped through it.

“Is that everyone? Good.”

He turned to another of the sides. A tall woman stood, a black cloak wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes glassy. Though Jon instinctively knew that everyone in this room was considered an equal, all sides in balance and none more important than any other, he also knew that she was the first among equals.

Jon cleared his throat, and regretted it instantly as several eyes turned to face him. There was no mistaking the kind of creatures in this room.

“Archivist,” the woman said. “I am the Inescapable. You stand at the Assembly of Fear. With Elias Bouchard… indisposed, you represent the Eye.”

“Right, um, ok,” Jon said slowly. He hesitated. “Represent it in… what, exactly?”

“I’d like to know that too,” a figure by another wall croaked.

Jon jumped, suddenly noticing the hulking, inhuman shape of Jared Hopworth, the Boneturner, blotting out almost his entire wall. He’d spotted the silhouette in his peripheral vision, but assumed it had to just be fallen rock casting a strange shadow; his shape had… twisted since Jon had last seen him.

“When our circle is complete,” the woman said.

Hadn’t she just said everyone who’d been invited was here? Jon squinted, looking around the tetradecagon.

There was himself, of course, and Helen, and Jared. Then there was an old man, a scraggly white beard and hunched frame, while he refused to rest his weight on the wall behind him. At a guess, Jon reflected, Simon Fairchild. Past him, a woman with wisps of white web peering out through a stitched-up gash in the side of her head, no doubt Annabelle Cane. Then there was a stranger, red-haired and with bagpipes strapped to his chest.

Jon recognised the rest. A bored looking Manuela Dominguez, Jude Perry (his long-healed hand prickled at the sight), and-

“Daisy?!” Jon said.

She shrugged back at him.

One wall, rather than having any person in front of it, instead had a large wooden box. That left three walls empty.

The woman who’d given herself the title of Inescapable took a step forwards, careful not to move too far from her own wall. She fixed her attention on two of the blank walls.

Wait, if they were here as avatars… he was Beholding, Jared was Flesh, Helen was Spiral… He mentally went through all those he was certain of. Presumably the piper had to be connected to the Slaughter, which left Hunt for Daisy, and the box… Buried, maybe?

The woman didn’t seem like Stranger, Corruption or Lonely, so that only left one.

There was the sound of screaming, though it was not any kind of human scream. The air itself seemed to tremble, the two walls she pointed at shuddering and contorting, and her face flickered bone-white for half a second. And then the avatar of the End _pulled_.

Pieces pulled out of one wall. The stone remained unmarred, but phantom elements built themselves up, constructing the shape of a mannequin in a red ringmaster outfit. A wide, toothy grin adorned a garishly painted face, flesh drooping off the decaying frame. Nikola Orsinov. Jon shuddered.

And shuddered again to see the floor in front of the other wall. Wriggling, squirming white pulled itself out of the ground, piling over themselves and knitting together to half-make flesh until a woman stood there. She caught sight of Jon and smiled.

“Hello Jon,” Jane Prentiss said. A worm fell out over her lip.

Jon took an instinctive step back.

“Stay by your place!” the avatar of the End snapped.

Jon tensed. Stepping out of line probably wasn’t a good idea here. Nervously he looked around, agents of other fears all around him. Only the Lonely’s wall was empty, marked with a crude set of wavy lines that maybe represented fog.

Even so… He tensed.

“Is everyone ready?” the woman said.

“I… have questions,” Jon said nervously.

There was the general sound of muttering. The woman sighed.

“Of course _you_ do,” she said wearily. “Very well Archivist. Three. Then we proceed.”

Only three? He’d gotten a mysterious invite to a meeting of the agents of fear entities from outside the universe, just seen two people brought back from the dead, and he was meant to limit himself to just three questions?

Ok. So… He looked around, catching his breath.

“That wall’s still empty,” he said. “Is everyone here?”

“Peter does that,” the avatar of the End said, slightly annoyed. “Next question.”

Well that was a waste of a question. 

“Um. Why are all of us here? Obviously we’re here because of the entities, but…”

“We each represent one of the fourteen,” the avatar of the End said. “All positioned here, in the place meant to keep us in balance so we can converse without fear and without side effects. When there are issues that affect all of us, this is how it is done.”

“Excuse me,” before Jon could speak, Daisy interrupted. “Not to get in the way of… all this, but I haven’t been part of the Hunt for a while now.”

There was an awkward murmuring at that. The avatar of the End seemed slightly self-conscious.

“You try finding a Hunter when you actually want one,” Manuela said. “They’re only nearby when you don’t want them. The nearest are off chasing their own tails in that ritual of theirs. You’ll do.”

“I’ll _do_?” Daisy echoed.

The avatar of the End cleared her throat loudly.

“Archivist. Your third question?” she said.

It didn’t seem like many of these answers were actually helping. Jon sighed, unconsciously moving away from Jane.

“Why didn’t you just get Elias here?” Jon said. “I’m sure he’d know more about… whatever this is. He’s only in prison, you just brought two people back from the _dead_ and you can’t manage a few locked doors?”

“I do not concern myself with doors,” she said. “I represent the End. All those who fall without fear, whether in the name of glory or pain, I return them to life so that they may truly fear when next they die. A death without fear is wasted. If necessary, I may turn my skill upon others as I have here, to represent the Powers with fewer surviving, representative agents, but death and death alone is my domain.”

She took a deep breath.

“I was born in the summer of seventeen-”

Several avatars coughed loudly. She caught herself suddenly.

“That is _definitely_ enough questions from you,” she said. “Which brings us to the purpose of this meeting. It has long been agreed that we work in the shadows; if our existence is common knowledge, people will be wary. We might still terrify but it would not be so efficient if it was not unexpected. This is how it is and always must be.”

She surveyed the room.

“So could someone please explain to me what in the _hell_ is happening in Downing Street?”

Jon blinked. The other avatars immediately started talking, voices overlapping until they were incoherent. Only the vague sound of the Slaughter avatar playing bagpipes was audible over the din.

He shot a curious look across the chamber to Daisy. She looked back, just as bewildered. Helen, meanwhile, was yelling.

“One at a time! One at a time!” the avatar of the End shouted. “McCrimmon, you first.”

“Oh, of _course_ the End sides with the Slaughter,” Simon said.

“Fine,” the woman sighed. “Simon, what do you have to-”

The outcry started again. It was a few minutes before the hubbub of voices quietened down. The avatar of the End sighed.

“Simon,” she said firmly. “Do you have anything to add?”

He shrugged. “Just didn’t think it was fair you started with Slaughter. He’s not one of mine.”

The woman rolled her eyes. She turned back to the Piper.

“McCrimmon?” she said.

He played a few loud notes on his bagpipes. Instantly Jude leapt forwards.

“Take that back!” she said. “Johnson’s nothing to do with us! We have class!”

“Do you have anything to add, Jude?” the avatar of the End said.

“If we wanted to take charge, we wouldn’t rule the country, we’d burn the whole place down,” she said, and before anyone could interject; “And not metaphorically like he has. My money’s on Spiral. Putting an agent in the PM’s spot is cheap.”

“What?” Helen said. “Why would you accuse me? I represent the incoherent, the incomprehensible, the- oh, no, wait, I see your point.”

The Slaughter avatar blew a few more notes out.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’d know if he was one of mine,” Helen said. “I think we should look at those of us who’ve tried getting into politics before.”

All eyes suddenly turned to face Jared. He seemed slightly bewildered; confused, Jon shrugged and went along with everyone else’s staring.

“What?” he said.

“Please, we all know the Flesh tried to get Cameron on its side,” Simon said.

“News to me,” Jared said.

“Why did we have to invite him?” Manuela said. “I think he knows less than the Archivist.”

“Hey!” Jon said.

“Do you know how few surviving Flesh avatars can actually talk?” the avatar of the End said. “Resurrecting people isn’t easy!”

“I think we can give the Bone-man a pass,” Nikola suddenly chimed in with her sing-song voice. “You can’t blame someone for what’s happening now, just because they did something similar once upon a time.”

“Yes, yes, we all remember what you did with Clegg,” Simon said. “That’s doesn’t mean it’s not you.”

“Oh don’t be such a grumpy boots,” Nikola said. “It was funny.”

McCrimmon played a slightly jaunty tune on his pipes. Several people looked at him, then at Daisy.

“There _have_ been Tories trying to bring back fox-hunting,” Jude said. “One of them’s even called Hunt. Anything to say?”

“How the hell would I know?!” Daisy said.

There was a slightly gurgly cough. Everyone turned away from Daisy, to see a worm slide out of Jane Prentiss’s neck.

“Actually Hunt’s one of mine,” she said. “Amherst’s idea.”

“I _knew_ he was Filth.”

“Nothing to do with Johnson.”

“I don’t know, he seems like a bit of a worm to me,” Manuela said.

“You take that back!” Jane said.

A worm poked its pale head out of one of the many holes in her skin; she stroked its head protectively.

“Don’t listen to the mean emo,” she cooed. “You’re so much nicer than Boris. I bet _she_ wants it though. Rolling power cuts suit the Dark just fine.”

“Excuse me?” Manuela said. “I live in Norway! Why would I care about whoever rules your stupid country?”

There was a pause. Jon continued to look around the assembly, bewildered. Ok, a handful of things definitely made more sense, but it was strange to be in a situation where the avatars just… talked.

The avatar of the End who seemed to be the de facto leader looked weary. 

“What about the Slaughter?” Simon suddenly spoke.

“Not this again…” the avatar of the End sighed.

“It’s missed the war, you can’t tell me it hasn’t,” Simon said. “The way things are going is right up it’s street.”

McCrimmon played a rather angry tune on his bagpipes. He glowered at Simon over them.

“There’s no call for language like that,” Simon said. “Just pointing it out. Tell me you don’t get something from it.”

McCrimmon played a very emphatic few notes.

“Yeah, we’re all going to _say_ we have standards,” Simon said. “But someone here’s got to be guilty. What are the chances he of all people could get where he is without some dark power behind him? Actually, you know what, we haven’t looked at you yet.”

He turned to the avatar of the End; she met his gaze. 

“Yes?” she said coldly.

“Declaring yourself in charge is a great way to go above suspicion,” he said. “The End’s getting plenty out of this. How do we know you’re not the only to blame?”

“I would _not-_” she began.

“Don’t get distracted! It’s got to be the Spiral, who else fits the bill more than-”

“I don’t trust Manuela, just because she _says-_”

“Awfully convenient the Flesh representative-”

“I know for a _fact_ Nikola’s lot have been getting involved in the US, with-”

“Say that one more time and we’re gonna see those bones of yours-”

“Wait, really? He’s an actual person?”

“I haven’t melted any worms yet. Getting very curious about trying it.”

(extended sounds of brutal pipe playing)

“Even the hair?”

“The Lukas hasn’t said much. I don’t trust-”

“_Enough!_”

There was a sudden rumble. White-boned hands clawed out of the stone floor, followed swiftly by mostly-fleshless skulls, blank eyes staring. They didn’t emerge far, never more than a quarter of their ribs visible, those who had ribs, but they reached out with their hands.

The room itself seemed to tremble, old bones and bodes suddenly squirming beneath. Pained, hollow moans began to echo in the chamber.

The avatar of the End stood in the middle, panting from the exertion, arms outstretched. The bones only retreated, the moans quieting, when the squabbling avatars quieted and her arms lowered; she looked around the panopticon, sweating.

Daisy tensed, stepping back; Jon echoed the motion from the far side of the chamber. Almost everyone seemed to be wary; only Annabelle seemed relaxed, idly wiggling her fingers as though playing piano. She looked bored.

“Has everyone said their piece?” she said. Then she continued without waiting for an answer. “Good. We’re going to go through those that haven’t yet contributed. You will all _shut up_. Then we’ll see. Alright? Good. Buried.”

Her tone brooked no disagreement, as though the shuddering in the chamber hadn’t been enough to warn them.

She turned to the roughly-made wooden box. Solemnly, chastened, the other avatars present did so.

Save Daisy who took one look at the box in the Buried’s corner of the wall, and then turned to Jon to mouth ‘what the fuck?’ He shrugged.

Unsurprisingly, the box just sat there.

After a few seconds, the avatar of the End turned around to face Jon.

“And you, Archivist?” she said. “Can you see the responsible power?”

He’d barely been following what they’d been talking about. He swallowed.

“Uh…” he said. “I can’t really find things out on command yet. But, um… I think you’re probably all very stinky and-”

He slapped his hands over his mouth. The avatar of the End gave a weary sigh.

“Annabelle. Stop that.”

“Spoilsport.”

Thin strands of web glistened on her fingertips. Jon felt a spider jump off from his neck, skittering away along the stone ground.

“Do you have anything more to contribute?” The avatar of the End said.

Jon shook his head, not moving his hands. She continued turning, now reaching Annabelle.

“Spiders have got to be to blame,” Jude said. “Manipulation’s her-”

The avatar of the End turned and glared. Jude promptly fell silent in a rare display of tact.

“As a matter of principle, I try not to get involved,” Annabelle said. Several other avatars laughed sceptically. “If you see my hand at work, that’s more a reflection of you than it is me.”

“Which means we end with Peter,” the avatar of the End said.

She turned to the only blank space by the wall. The etched rune for the Lonely glimmered in the faint light.

The avatars watched it, rapt; Daisy shot a curious look over the chamber to Jon, who shrugged. Peter had barely showed up at the place he was meant to be working, being able to see him here seemed a bit of a stretch.

It was a minute before the avatar of the End sighed.

“Fine. Hide in the Lonely forever, be like that,” she said. “So that’s everyone.”

The pause, then, dragged on.

“I’m going to ask again,” she said. “When one of us starts acting on this scale, all it does is desensitise people, makes it worse for the rest of us. So, once more, who here is responsible for Boris Johnson?”

Jon looked around. The Buried’s box was still resolutely staying still, Peter’s space still silent. Jude looked bored, Simon was glancing around distrustfully, McCrimmon was toying with his instrument…

Manuela cleared her throat.

“It is you!” Jane said suddenly.

“No!” Manuela snapped. “It’s just… something Rayner said. He was concerned about creating the Black Sun sooner rather than later, in case something… else intervened. And if it’s none of us…”

A chill seemed to run through the room. Jon looked around again, noting both Jared and Daisy seem just as lost.

The other avatars, though, seemed all too aware of what Manuela was getting at. Helen took a step back towards her door, Jude clenched her hands into fists, Simon’s near-manic grin faded, Nikola leant in…

The avatar of the End hesitated, thoughtful.

“The fifteenth… it would line up,” she said.

“Sorry, the _what_?” Jon said.

“McCrimmon, you explain it,” she said. “I’m thinking. It is a modern fear, with more modern hallmarks, and it _does_ want to be more overt… though if it is strong enough to gain an avatar already, that is worrying.”

Her voice trailed off. Confused, Jon turned to the Slaughter avatar.

The tune he played then was low and haunting, ugly clashing sounds that it didn’t seem like the bagpipes could produce breaking up the melody. After a minute or so he looked up at Jon expectantly.

“Um. Thanks. Yeah, that clears everything up,” Jon said.

McCrimmon smiled.

By the time Jon turned his attention back to the rest of the panopticon, there was a loud screeching sound. All eyes turned up to the ceiling of the chamber.

Cracks ran across it, stone and dirt falling to the floor all around them; as fragments fell away, the sky seemed to be far too close above it.

But the sky was not blue, nor was it black as if night had come early; it burned red, a shade far too vivid and unnatural to be simple sunrise of sunset. It as if the very clouds were aflame. A distant, increasing cacophony of rhythmic thuds carried through the new cracks.

The breeze that carried through the cracks was cold and smelled of oil. Jon gasped, snatching his hand back from where a little sunlight reached him. His skin burned at its touch.

The ceiling was still mostly intact. What little they could see of the world outside through the small hole in it, however, as enough even to scare a fear. Something thoroughly inhuman moved on the far side, and then something fell through the crack.

The doorway to that hellish place closed. Twelve people (and one box) stayed frozen in place.

A simple sheet of A4 paper lay in the middle of the room, a small line of text written on it, face-down. It was Jane who reacted after several minutes of indecision; a worm pushed its way out of her foot, wriggling over the ground to get to the message from that… thing.

It pushed the paper over, and they read the words of the Extinction.

_Nah m8, ur prob_

There was a pause.

“Well at least it isn’t _that_ evil,” the avatar of the End said, relieved.

“It wants to wipe out all life,” Helen reminded her.

“So it’s probably still a Tory,” the avatar said. “I get your point. But if even it’s not claiming responsibility, where does that leave us?”

“You called this stupid thing, you tell us,” Jude said.

“Well if it was none of us, and _that_’s going to tear a hole in reality to avoid association…” she said. “The humans couldn’t mess up that badly could they? Someone’s got to be lying.”

A pause. Several sighs. The avatar of the End turned away.

“Assembly adjourned,” she said. “And if I find out someone withheld anything…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jude said. “This was pointless.”

“Are you surprised?” Manuela said.

Helen was already walking through her door. It vanished behind her. Bewildered, Jon watched as the panopticon slowly emptied out; Nikola and Jane dissolved to all they’d been before, Nikola’s painted smile never fading.

Well that was a whole lot of nothing. Jon looked over to Daisy; she was slumped against the wall behind her.

“Do you think this is something we have to worry about?” Jon said.

“No more than usual,” Daisy said. She exhaled. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before they expect us to carry the box out.”

They passed by the Buried’s space, and hurried past the Lonely’s, to reach one of the many winding tunnels that led out, eventually, to the surface.

The powers met so very rarely, and when it was, it was always a matter of great significance. Jon suddenly knew that; he also knew that the one thing rarer than the powers coming together, was them agreeing on actually doing anything.

* * *

Peter Lukas sung along loudly to a CD of sea shanties, feet kicked up on Elias’s desk. One of the upsides to the Lonely was no one ever had to walk in on him chilling.

It was when he went over to change the disc – he’d never get the hang of downloaded music – he found a letter. Idly he picked it up.

Huh. Assembly of the powers; it’d been the while since the last one of those. And… due to start an hour ago. Too late now.

Shrugging, he lay back in his chair.


End file.
